Battlefield
by IcyPanther
Summary: A series of snippets / short fics / drabbles that I ramble out about these poor, unfortunate VLD souls who caught my eye. Likely starring mostly Lance, always gen all the time, whump, angst and maybe some cuddles to balance it all. PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE ON LAST CHAPTER. THIS IS THE LAST UPDATE/STORY BEING POSTED ON THIS WEBSITE.
1. Drown

A series of snippets / short fics / drabbles (goal is less than 2k) that I ramble out and have no where else to put. No set main character (although, cough Lance) and all gen all the time. Warnings marked per chapter but nothing above a "T" rating and if that changes that chapter will be heavily warned at the top. Enjoy!

 **x**

 **Battlefield**

 _Meet me on the battlefield_  
 _Even on the darkest night_  
 _I will be your sword and shield,_  
 _Your camouflage and you will be mine_  
 _Echoes of the shots ring out_  
 _We may be the first to fall_  
 _Everything could stay the same_  
 _Or we could change it all_  
 _Meet me on the battlefield_

~Battlefield by Svrcina

 **x**

 **x**

 **Summary:** Lance was alone. He was going to die alone. Such a thought scared him more than actually dying.  
 **Warnings:**...drowning?  
 **Timeline notes:** Not applicable

 **One: Drown**

Lance took a last, desperate inhale around the gag as they shoved him backwards over the cliff edge, panic and tears blurring the night sky above him as he hung weightless for all of a second.

It wasn't enough.

He crashed into the water below with a force that knocked the breath right back out and he could do nothing to reclaim it as the cinderblocks tied about his wrists dragged him immediately under and his short, muffled scream was swallowed whole.

He clamped his mouth shut even as cold, bitter water flooded inside in a last bid to keep breathing for even a few more seconds.

His legs jerked helplessly against the bindings, pressed flush against his thighs and all the twisting and writhing in the world could not slow his descent into the surreally calm water around him, silence seeming to push him down further.

His hands strained at the manacles, his shoulders heaved against the coarse rope wrapped all about his chest and back and pinning his arms down. He could feel it grating through his shirt, angry burns rubbing on mocha skin. He threw all of his weight back, angling himself to yank up against the pull and nearly screaming as his shoulders protested the heavy weight.

They did not budge.

More tears filled his vision, no different from the water around him except they _stung_ beyond painfully; fear and regret and despair and horror and failure in each drop.

Another bubble burst from his throat and Lance hiccupped it back, throat starting to ache and a pressure building behind his eyes.

He was going to die.

He was really going to die.

His struggles slowed.

There was no use.

His gaze tracked upwards, the wavery sheen of the moon barely visible from the surface, framed as his bangs floated about in the weightlessness of the lake, growing further and further away as he continued to sink.

They were never going to find him.

A sob built in his throat and Lance squeezed his eyes shut against the dimming moon. He didn't want to see anymore.

He was going to _die._

He cast his mind out, seeking any trace of Red, of Blue, of _anyone._

Silence echoed.

He was alone.

He was going to die alone.

Such a thought scared him more than actually dying.

Even with his eyes closed a different sort of blackness was starting to encroach, an opposite to the heat and fire as his lungs protested no more, begged for air that he could not give.

His mouth opened against his will and the bitter water took over.

He choked.

A last bit of life was restored to leaden limbs as his body spasmed and Lance's eyes opened for the last time, lids heavy as they looked up for the last glimmer of light.

It was gone.

No.

Not gone.

Blocked.

There was something in front of it. Something moving.

Moving quick.

Moving towards him.

Lance's eyes fluttered closed at the same time he felt a hand dig into his hair and the sudden feeling of weightlessness as the blocks were freed from his hands.

And around the gag, around his last stuttered breath, Lance smiled.

He wasn't alone after all.

xxx

 **Author's Notes:**

For the record, it's open to interpretation but Lance lives in my head thanks to the wonders of CPR. His rescuer? Up for you to decide!

This is what happens when heyheroics asks for something Langsty to draw, I prompt weighted down drowning and then for the first time in a month felt inspired to write something. This was a little challenge to myself too to keep it under 600 words and no backstory since it was meant to be a snippet. (see the artwork on my tumblr or on ao3!)

Enjoy? Leave a comment please and thank you!


	2. The Dumb One

**Summary:** Garfle Warfle Snick' was all the team wanted to laugh and talk about. Well... not one of them. Lance's fake smiles and forced laughter are painful to see and Hunk knows they need to fix this... but he's in need of an assist himself.  
 **Timeline notes:** Set during season seven, post episode four, "The Feud."  
 **Warning notes:** Err, copious amounts of fluffy angst? Season seven spoilers too.

 **Two: The "Dumb" One**

"You're not dumb."

The words hung in the air, heavy with conviction and at the same time a plea, a wish, a desperate hope that the recipient believed them.

Lance did not react, his head remaining stationary on his upturned knees while his arms hugged about them, making a pitiful image next to the dying remains of their campfire.

"Lance-"

"I know."

Lance's tone was sharp and dull and bitter all at once. This close, even in the barely there glow, Hunk could make out the faintest sheen on dark lashes before Lance angled his head, pressing his face fully into his knee.

"I know," he repeated, muffled.

Hunk didn't believe it for a second.

He joined his best friend on the bumpy ground, settling himself into a cross-legged sit and throwing a handful of loose kindling onto the fire.

Lance had been quiet all day since their "visit" to Bob's game show, not even cracking a smile when Hunk and Coran had together concocted a sort of s'more or offering up a complaint when Keith ordered them all to jog the perimeter of their camp for the night (which, despite knowing the training and exercise were good after being cooped up all day in the Lions, Lance normally dramatically protested before doing it anyways).

Hunk had a feeling he knew why and his stomach curdled.

Garfle Warfle Snick had been all anyone could talk about at the group dinner as Coran had demanded details of the legendary encounter and the team had been full of laughs in describing the faux-Galrans and Keith's drawing abilities and Lance's bi-boh-bi-ing and the shenanigans of the set.

But Lance had not been smiling. Not really. He'd bared his teeth in a false version of one, laughed at himself when Pidge ribbed him about not knowing any of their allies' names, and had weakly chuckled when it came around that he'd been chosen to "escape" because Keith didn't want to be stuck for him with eternity.

It took a few pointed looks and subtle shoves from Hunk and then surprisingly Keith, purple eyes narrowed in thought, for them to move on from the topic and instead they got Coran telling one of his stories about the Paladins of old that then had Krolia one-upping him with a Blade mission and the two of them went back and forth for a good varga with a seemingly entranced audience.

And they all probably would have been except for the fact that Lance… Lance was not partaking in it. He instead had his head propped up as he was now, firelight dancing across his face but his eyes not seeing it.

When Lance had excused himself to feed Kaltenecker and get her settled for the evening, Hunk had been a little surprised when he found himself the attention of a bunch of concerned and confused gazes.

He'd quietly told them his suspicions and had watched as Allura's expression had shuttered and Pidge sucked in a harsh breath, guilt flashing across her features. Keith's lips had thinned into a line and he'd looked to Hunk and he could see an apology on his lips.

But it wasn't he who needed an apology for being laughed at. He more than understood how it felt to be the butt of a joke, to be laughed at, but even with his stint as "Humorous Hunk" in the Voltron Show he'd known still then (mostly) that it had been an act.

Lance did not have that.

He instead had a history of kids teasing him as he learned how to speak English, of teachers belittling him as he struggled to understand more complex math and science formulas, of instructors telling him he was only in the fighter program because of a drop out.

Lance had been told his whole life he wasn't smart enough, not good enough. And he _was._ Lance was smart. He was people smart; he understood them in ways Hunk envied. He saw things about others; he read emotions and intentions. He was tactical and a great leader and reflexive and could change direction on a dime and make those quick-second decisions that Hunk knew he'd be agonizing over still a day later.

But those things didn't matter, not to Lance. Not when he was so used to being compared to others not on his strengths but his "weaknesses" and finding himself wanting.

And now…

Now he'd had to suffer that all again, _repeatedly_ called dumb, called "the stupid one," and had Hunk not been so overwhelmed by all that was happening at the time of the show he'd have nipped that in the bud (or, tried to) before Lance had been repeatedly humiliated when he heard the quiet, disbelieving and now realized _hurt_ tone of Lance asking for clarification if the host meant him.

Hunk felt like the stupid one.

He had to try and fix it, somehow.

He'd told the others as such, knowing the last thing Lance would want to do is feel cornered, even if this was a positive intervention. They'd all reluctantly agreed to let Hunk handle it, Shiro quietly telling him, "he knew best," and had retired not long after to their sleeping arrangements, Keith noting he'd be up in five varga for a watch change.

And now here they were and Hunk's more blunt approach - no way for Lance to dodge it, to laugh it off, to weakly protest he didn't know what Hunk was talking about - had not quite gone as well as he'd hoped.

He should have known it would not be that easy.

Lance rolled his head free a moment later, smeared tear tracks down his cheek, and kept his eyes averted towards the fire.

Hunk's heart broke.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Lance asked quietly after a pause, no judgment in the question but only a sort of tiredness that Hunk recognized. It was the tone he took when even a hug couldn't make him feel better, when he didn't want to burden another with whatever was troubling him.

He wanted Hunk to leave.

He was going to have to do a lot better than that.

"Nope."

Lance finally looked his way then, a crease of confusion to his brow.

"I can't sleep," Hunk admitted and that had Lance sitting up although he remained curled over his knees. "Not when I know you're upset."

Lance turned back to the fire. "I'm not upset."

Hunk didn't bother that with a response.

"I'm not," Lance insisted in the growing quiet. "I'm…" His hands tightened around his legs, knuckles turning white. "I just…" He let out a soft sigh. "I thought… I thought things were different now. Guess not, huh? I'll always be the dumb, stupid one no matter what."

"Lance-"

"It's fine," Lance cut in, hunching further over.

"It's not," Hunk retorted sharply. "It's not fine, Lance," he lowered his voice. "And you are _not_ dumb or stupid or any of that. That was a stupid game show and a stupider host. Don't listen to anything he said. He was wrong."

"Keith doesn't think so."

Lance flinched as soon as the words were out of his mouth, clearly not meaning to say them. Hunk's eyes narrowed and his, "What?" came out flatter than he'd ever heard himself speak.

Lance flushed. "I… forget that."

"Like hell," Hunk snapped, and the curse felt as foreign on his tongue as it apparently sounded to Lance as dark blue eyes shot over to him, widened in shock. "What did Keith say?"

Hunk had thought the two of them had reached an understanding. He'd have have to be blind to not see the way Keith implicitly trusted Lance to have their backs, to be his second in command. Although the two of them still exchanged insults and barbs Hunk had thought at this point it was mostly out of habit, in jest.

He'd thought the two of them had become friends but…

"You heard him too," Lance said quietly, barely a whisper. "He picked me to get out so he wouldn't be stuck with me." His words began to become quicker, higher. "So the four of you would be there and you guys are all so smart and you'd figure a way out, I know it, while I would just hold everyone back because I can't contribute anything because I am the stupid one and the host was right and I am dumb and I wouldn't want to be stuck with me for eternity either."

"You're not the stupid one. I am."

Hunk barely contained his yelp of surprise as Keith sounded above him and Lance stiffened next to him, even moreso as Keith dropped down on Lance's other side.

"Keith," Hunk protested weakly, eyes flicking between Lance's bowed head and clenched jaw and Keith's resolute stare.

"I need to say this," Keith said. He reached out a finger, let it hover in the air for a second, and then firmly poked Lance in the shoulder, who curled away from it as though somehow expecting something worse. "Listen," Keith commanded, voice low but strong all the same.

Lance didn't say anything but Hunk could see that Keith did have his attention, his head turned ever so.

"I'm not good at talking about things," Keith said. "I have… have trouble talking about my feelings. And what I said during that stupid show… that was wrong of me. And stupid. Really stupid. But I…" A flush was creeping up the back of Keith's neck, embarrassment and awkwardness warring, but he grit his teeth and continued.

Hunk felt something uncoil inside him at the display. Keith had really grown up.

"I don't take back my pick," he continued. "You're who I would want to get out of there, Lance. And it's not because of what I said. It's… you called me the future but you're wrong." Lance winced and Keith plowed on. "You are. The future. You… You bring people together, Lance. You make them care. You are the one who has the best chance to unite the universe in this fight. _That_ is why I picked you."

"Keith," Lance murmured, picking his head up fully. "You…"

Hunk chuckled as Lance launched himself sideways at Keith, wrapping his arms tightly about the now ramrod form of Keith.

"Er, okay, we're hugging now," Keith muttered, lifting his arms up and tentatively patting Lance on his back.

"That's not a proper hug, Keith," Hunk advised, scooching over and wrapping his arms around both of them and squeezing so hard Lance gave a little squeak. "This is."

Lance relaxed almost bonelessly in the embrace. "Thank you," he whispered, voice thick.

"None of that," Hunk chided. "There's nothing to thank us for. Just do one thing for me instead, okay?"

He could feel Lance's head tilt against his arm.

"Believe us when we tell you that you are not stupid or dumb. Believe us instead we we say you are smart and kind and one of the most amazing people that exists in this world. Got it?"

"Hunk…"

"What he said," Keith put in, earning a wet laugh from Lance.

"Okay," Lance agreed quietly, tones soft but sincere and the earlier melancholy gone. "Okay."

Hunk let out a contented sigh and squeezed both Lance and Keith tighter.

Things were going to be more than okay indeed.

xxx

 **Author's Notes:**

This episode rubbed me wrong for a number of reasons but number one was Lance's treatment and then the lack of any resolution or reassurances when it was all over. My fix-it fic (at this rate I'm gonna have like ten fic "fixing" season seven, stop me xD; but hey, kept this one short enough to put it here instead of its own fic) to address these problems and give us some lovely bonding too.

Enjoy the fic? Please share your reaction via a comment below. I'd love to hear what you thought!


	3. Crash and Burn

**Summary:** Lance and Pidge crash the supply pod following a freak asteroid storm. And Lance... Lance is hurt. Badly. He's bleeding out and there's no time to wait for rescue. Pidge has to save him. And the emergency flare... Well, it's the only thing she's got.  
 **Timeline notes:** Not really applicable, but technically late season two or early season three.  
 **Warning notes:** Cauterization, descriptions of injury.  
 **Other notes:** Tumblr follower kiriban bad things happen bingo prompt: _Can I have Lance cauterizing please? I'm so excited!_

 **Crash and Burn**

"Lance!"

Pidge's hoarse scream cut through the crackling, smoky air. "La—" she broke off into a wracking cough, sinking to her knees outside the burning remains of the supply pod.

The supply pod Lance was still in.

Desperation forced her back to her feet and she surged forward, heat blistering her face and the metal sheeting glowing a dull orange.

"Lance!"

He did not respond.

The flames grew higher.

It was supposed to be a simple supply run.

Not…

Not this.

Not a freak asteroid storm.

Not Lance desperately trying to navigate their unarmed, unshielded aircraft out of the barrage.

Not her attempts to contact the castle, static buzzing in the cockpit from the interference of the storm.

Not one of the asteroids striking them, sending the ship into a tailspin.

Not the plummet towards the small dwarf planet below.

Not Lance throwing himself over her, just as vulnerable as she in his civilian clothes, as the ground reared up and the impact was imminent.

Not this.

She'd been tossed free of the ship. Pidge wasn't still sure how, but other than a smattering of thin cuts sliced into her arms and a deeper but not serious gash above her right knee and some no doubt still to appear bruises she was relatively uninjured.

But Lance…

Lance had not been on the ground with her.

Which meant he was still in the ship.

That was on fire.

That was going to explode.

And he wasn't responding.

Fuck.

"Fuck," Pidge said it aloud as well, hands shaking as she wrenched her singed shirt over her head and leaving her in her camisole. "Fuck fuck fuck _fuck."_

She picked up a jagged piece of glass from the window and holding it as carefully as she could she sliced through her shirt, dividing it into two.

Dropping the glass she pulled the halves apart and bundled them over and over her hands in a terrible imitation of boxing gloves to protect them as best she could from what she was about to do next.

And without giving it any more thought Pidge braced her hands on crumpled door frame and _pushed._

She could feel the heat sinking in already, licking at her now bare shoulders too.

She pushed harder.

Acid smoke swirled and she turned, burying her face into her arm as she coughed.

She realized then her glasses were missing, likely launched as she had been.

She didn't care.

The frame gave a _creak_ and the heated metal bent inwards, allowing her enough room to pass through.

The smoke was thicker inside, billowing about her as it sought the open air.

Pidge held one cloth-wrapped hand over her mouth and shoved herself deeper in.

She hauled herself into the cockpit, stumbling over a piece of debris that had landed on the floor.

She realized a tick later that it wasn't debris at all.

"Lance!" she gasped, dropping to her knees, wincing at the heat that hit her flesh. "Lance!"

He was lying on his side, back to her.

He wasn't moving.

Pidge pulled off her hand wraps and reached out, grasping at his raised shoulder and side to turn him towards her, grunting. Her lower hand came away wet.

Honey eyes widened.

What?

They tracked to Lance's stomach.

His shirt was plastered there, gray material turned red.

Blood.

It was leaking sluggishly now that his weight was no longer putting pressure on it, adding more scarlet to the already puddled floor.

Oh God.

Oh God oh God oh God.

What had happened? How bad was it?

Bad, she answered herself. It had to be bad.

Lance let out a soft moan, barely audible over the snapping of flames coming from the console, as Pidge tentatively dug fingers into the hem of the shirt and lifted it.

Acid tickled her throat.

Bad was an understatement.

Lance's stomach had been cut open nearly all the way across, a thick, oozing line of red and as Lance shuddered she caught sight of something pink glistening further in.

She was going to be sick.

She couldn't afford to be.

"Lance," Pidge whispered, bloodied fingers — Lance's blood, oh God — lighting upon his cheek. "L-Lance."

He let out another moan and his eyes fluttered.

Pidge tapped it more insistently.

She needed to stop the bleeding. She needed to get him out of the burning ship. She needed to, she needed to—

The console let out a dangerous snap.

Prioritize. Get out of ship first before they both blew up.

She couldn't carry him. She wouldn't be able to drag him far either and definitely not through the warped doorway.

He needed to wake up. He needed to get up.

Oh God they were both going to die.

"Lance, Lance please. Lance, _wake up!"_

Hazy ocean eyes opened.

"Pidge?" he rasped, wincing. "Wh-what…?"

His eyes moved past her face and deeper into the ship, no doubt catching sight of the mangled interior and the flames starting to lick for the ceiling.

His eyes widened. "Wh-what—?"

"We need to go," Pidge told him, hoping her voice wasn't wavering as badly as it sounded to her.

Lance's hands twitched at his sides and braced themselves on the heated floor below. He went to push himself to sitting—

And fell back with a breathless gasp.

His stomach gushed a new line of crimson.

A matching color appeared on his lips as he tilted his head, coughing weakly.

Internal bleeding.

"Get _up!"_ Pidge demanded as Lance's eyes closed. "I can't carry you! _Get up!"_

Her hands trembled, useless.

"Pidge… I…" He coughed again, more blood painting his teeth.

"Get the fuck up Lance," her hands dug into his shoulder, clenching the fabric there. "Get up _now!"_ A sob worked its way up her throat and the ship gave another dangerous moan. "I'm not leaving without you. Now _get up!"_

Lance responded by bracing his hands once more on the floor and he _shoved_ up, a short scream torn from him as his stomach contracted and blood gushed and he hunched over, panting.

"Up, up up," Pidge tugged on his shirt, rising to a crouch herself and trying to tug him towards her. One hand scrambled out and recollected her shirt.

She was going to need that for bandages.

Lance followed.

He leaned forward onto his knees, lifting his right leg and bracing it beneath him. Pidge bent down and slipped his right arm over her shoulders before rising to her full height, pulling up on the captured limb.

Lance rose with her.

His legs nearly buckled beneath him as she got him into a hunched stand, too short, too small, to be an effective crutch.

The front of the cockpit _screeched_ as metal collapsed in on itself.

It was the motivation Lance needed.

He took a shaky step forward, breaths heavy and shallow at the same time, and Pidge did what she could to support him as she steered them towards the crumpled doorway.

Heat brushed her shoulders, sparks landing on the exposed flesh and she gritted her teeth as her she reached her free hand out, having to push aside a small beam that had come loose in that time. The destroyed shirt soaked up most of it but she let out a small groan of her own as it struck against her unprotected wrist.

They were pushing through the doorway a moment later.

Lance practically fell out, hitting the debris-strewn ground with a dull thump.

Pidge looked over her shoulder as the front of the shuttle became engulfed.

"Move!" she screamed, yanking on Lance's arm. "Move!"

He got his feet beneath him again and they stumbled away from the ship.

Just one more step, just one more step, Pidge chanted to herself. They just had to get far enough way before—

The ship exploded.

Heat washed over their backs and hot air buoyed them forward, sending them tumbling into the dirt.

It was a good thing they didn't make it farther, Pidge thought, eyes wide, as she watched flying metal crash further up the landscape, propelled high into the air by the blast.

They'd made it.

She scrambled to her knees, turning to Lance who had collapsed onto his side, eyes closed although his face was tight with pain.

"Hang on, hang on," she muttered, shoving him back onto his back and he let out the barest moan. She unraveled her shirt from her grip and before she could think on how much this was going to _hurt_ she pressed it down onto the gaping wound across Lance's stomach.

He _screamed._

It was a sound Pidge never wanted to hear again. His eyes had flown open wide as she put more of her weight onto the wound, trying to stopper it, and his hands scrabbled weakly on the ground.

It wasn't enough.

Pidge's shirt had turned an ugly red, her hands staining just as much, but it _wasn't enough._ The wound was too deep, too wide, too much.

And she had nothing left to stop it.

Lance had stilled although his chest was heaving, gurgled gasps of air clouding his throat.

He was pale.

The light on this planet was dim, in their night cycle with a sliver of moon casting down its rays and the burning ship a flickering orange behind them. Lance's normal mocha tones though were growing washed out.

He was losing too much blood.

"Lance," Pidge whispered, abandoning her useless bandaging and placing blood-drenched fingers on his cheek.

He blinked open dull eyes.

"Pidge," he murmured. A ghost of a smile tried to pull up red flecked lips. "I…Th-thank you."

"Thank you?" she repeated, voice pitching high. "For _what?"_

His smile grew even as his eyes closed. "For… for s-saving me."

Saving him? _Saving him?_ He was _dying_ right in front of her. She'd pulled him from the ship only to lose him now.

No.

No.

The others would come, she was sure. Maybe a blip of their signal got through, maybe Keith and his weird instincts would sense something was wrong. Maybe the Blue Lion would too. And if not that, then when they didn't return from their trip the team would go out and find them.

But they'd be too late.

Lance didn't have time.

She needed to do something. Something _now._

Her eyes cast about the clearing looking for inspiration, an answer.

Burning ship, burning metal, rocks, sand… and the shuttle's emergency kit, torn open just a few paces away and its contents strewn across the ground.

They focused on one of the flares.

Her stomach heaved.

Oh God.

She looked back to Lance, to the saturated scraps of clothing.

Oh God.

She…

She had to.

She pulled herself to her feet, limbs aching and heavy. "No," she told Lance, staring down at his prone form. "I… I haven't saved you yet. But," she swallowed, licking dry lips. "I will. Just… just hold on."

Pidge was to the flare and back to Lance's side within a few ticks.

Oh God.

She needed to stop the bleeding though. It was the only way.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Lance didn't seem to hear her, head lolled to the side now.

Pidge pulled back her useless bandages, dropping them with a wet plop to the side.

The wound stared up at her, gaping and bloody and oh God what the fuck was she doing?

The flare came to life in her hands, bright blue and white fire highlighting the scene.

Oh God.

Pidge stalled in doing it, moving instead to sit backwards on Lance's chest, straddling him with her knees pressed into the dirt with as much force as she could manage to pin him down.

The flare hovered above his stomach in front of her.

Pidge took a steadying breath.

And she lowered the flare.

Lance _wailed._

Not unconscious then.

He writhed and bucked beneath her as she dragged the flame and metal tip against his skin, tracing the line.

The scent of burnt flesh assaulted her nose.

Lance rolled beneath her, his hands scratching at her calves.

Pidge choked down bile and kept going.

It was like welding. Searing two pieces of metal together.

Just… just with flesh.

The skin was bubbling and blistering as she moved the flare across, red and darkened and blood drying instantly into flakes at the heat.

She forced herself to make two passes.

Lance went limp while she was on the second one.

She sobbed and prayed.

Pidge flicked the flare off a few ticks later, dropping it like it had burned her instead.

She rolled off of Lance, crawling towards his face.

Tears glistened on his cheeks.

"L-Lance?" She reached a trembling hand out to his cheek, to his lips.

A shallow puff of hot air warmed her fingers.

He was still alive.

Pidge maneuvered around him, pulling his head and shoulders into her lap, trying to prop him up against her as he let out a weak cough.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He did not respond. One of his tears finished its trek down his cheek, plopping onto her knee.

Pidge held him as the ship in front of them burned brighter and brighter.

She held him as its fires went out.

As the moon trekked across the sky.

As his breaths grew quieter and quieter.

She held him and pet his hair and told him she had saved him now so he had to wake up, he had to hold on, he _had to be okay._

And in the thick silence broken not even now by Pidge's whispers and sobs, there was a roar, a burst of blue light against the dark sky.

The Blue Lion.

Lance was saved.

 **Author's Notes:**

Starting off the 1,000 follower tumblr kiriban with something near and dear to my heart; Lance and cauterization. And platonic Plance because yes? It got a little longer than I'd hoped but y'all know me, I'm a whore for scene setting xD Hope you enjoyed! Please do drop a comment below!

(Like my works? Keep up with me on tumblr, icypantherwrites)


	4. Salted Tears

**Summary:** Apparently the Galra hate a mixed race Galran even more than a traitorous Blade of Marmora. Keith just so happens to be both.  
 **Timeline notes:** Anywhere in season four - five when Keith is with the Blades  
 **Warning notes:** Whipping  
 **Additional notes:** For Tumblr follower kiriban event with prompt: _Gonna request Keith for the whipping square. :-)_

 **Salted Tears**

Keith sucked in a harsh breath, interlocked fingers tightening against one another as the whip sank into his back.

Don't scream.

Don't cry.

Don't give them the satisfaction.

It was the only thing he had to cling to.

Well, besides the post he was had been forced to kneel in front of, arms chained flush around its girth and restraints pinning his ankles to the ground behind him.

He wasn't going anywhere.

He vaguely wondered if he was going to die here.

The whip _cracked_ and Keith hated how he tensed.

Sixteen.

He counted the number as he bit down on his tongue to swallow the groan as it connected, digging into already bleeding, raw flesh.

He had no idea how many more there would be.

Probably…

Probably a lot.

"Who's next?" roared out the the Galran commander of the base Keith had been attempting to sneak in to on a Blade mission that had not gone anywhere close to planned. "Who wants a piece of this traitor halfbreed's flesh?"

A clamor arose from the gathered troops and Keith sensed more than saw a new soldier come up behind him.

There would be no shortage of volunteers.

Not for him.

It had been bad enough to be captured, some sort of failsafe programmed into the mainframe Keith had been accessing that had shocked him with such a heavy pulse he had fallen right then and there, unable to move or even speak even as the alarm had started and pounding feet had rushed the control room.

It was worse when they'd disabled his Marmora mask and gotten a glimpse of his features; peach skin and white ringed eyes and growls of 'halfbreed' and 'traitor' had started to sound.

Apparently the Galra hated a mixed race Galran more than they hated even a Blade of Marmora, for the initial plan had been to apparently just shoot him in the head and send his body off as a warning to the Blades had been forgone in favor of hauling him out by his hair and deciding they were going to "have some fun."

Keith supposed at least this way he had lived.

He knew it was only temporary.

Once they got tired of this game...

He closed his eyes.

Seventeen.

He wished he'd had a chance to say goodbye.

Eighteen.

He should have never left Voltron.

Nineteen.

He wished Shiro was here.

At twenty he couldn't quite choke back a cry.

It _hurt._

"Oh ho, listen to _that,"_ chuckled the commander. "He does make noise." Keith could almost feel the sharp grin. "Now let's make him scream."

The lashes came faster then, sinking into raw flesh, striking high and low and leaving bloody welts and flayed skin behind.

At thirty-two Keith was sagging against the post, only the restraints keeping him upright.

At forty he had still not let out more than a groan or hiss.

His lip was a bloodied mess.

His back was even moreso.

Keith was grateful he couldn't see it.

No screaming.

No crying.

He would go out with his pride.

His resolve held until they dumped the salt water.

The scream ravaged his throat as _fire_ exploded down his back, salt sinking into every wound, and he tossed his head back as though that could relieve the pain.

"I think this disgusting piece of halfbreed filth needs to be cleaned," the commander sneered.

Another barrel was dumped over him to the sound of cheering, a gushing torrent that flooded his mouth, his nose, stinging his eyes while his back _wept_ blood and salty tears.

Keith couldn't breathe.

He could do nothing except choke and shake and wait for it to be over.

"Look at you. _Pathetic._ "

A clawed hand descended into his hair, yanking Keith's head backwards until he was forced to look up at the commander above him.

Pained amethyst eyes met cruel yellow.

Keith spat out the water he hadn't yet coughed out.

It hit the Galran dead center between his eyes.

Keith grinned, a bloody thing.

The commander _bellowed._

Those enraged eyes were the last thing he saw.

 **Author's Notes:**

Mmm, ambiguous ending. Expect a few like that as given the whump prompts and my self-imposed length of 500 to 2k-ish words I can't devise a rescue for everyone. That'd get boring anyhow, yeah? ;p I for one imagine Keith has been rescued after getting knocked out (head to pole, maybe?) here.

(Also real quick, _Battlefield_ **is not** a request fic thread. If you would like a fic of your own from me you can find details on my Tumblr on how to go about doing that, but this fic is for my own personal snippets/drabbles I'm inspired to write and a place to house all of the prompts from the Tumblr kiriban.)

Enjoying it? **Please drop a comment below and give the author some love.** I'd love to hear your overall impression, a part that jumped out, a piece of dialogue... the small details make my day!


	5. In Silence We Break

**Summary:** A nightmare of endless stillness and silence and darkness wakes Shiro and sends him stumbling from his room in search of Keith, of comfort. But he shouldn't bother Keith. He doesn't need to deal with Shiro, with this broken person he's become. Krolia vehemently disagrees.  
 **Timeline notes:** Set post season six, early season seven before crazy stuff happens  
 **Warning notes:** None  
 **Additional notes:** For Tumblr follower kiriban event with prompt: _Shiro, tearful smile? Big, strong leader needs to emote more_

 **In Silence We Break**

Shiro shot to sitting with a sharp gasp, chest heaving and sweat plastering his bangs to his forehead.

Darkness stared back.

His breath hitched. He couldn't be back there. Not again. Not anymore. Not the _darkness_ and the _silence_ and the _stillness_ and—

A light blinked.

Then another.

And another.

There were many lights now, soft Altean teal mixed with purple, highlighting metal beams and panels and an assortment of boxes and canisters.

The Black Lion.

He was inside the Black Lion.

But not in the Astral Plane, not hovering and unsubstantial and _alone._

He was in the small storage chamber that had been converted into his temporary quarters as they traveled towards Earth.

He was _here._

Fingers clenched into a fist on his left while his right was a gaping, missing piece and as much as Shiro had hated all the Galran arm had stood for, had reminded him of, he felt the loss so much it _hurt._

His flesh hand moved to press against his heart, feeling it thudding, grounding him in the moment.

He was _here._

He was…

He was still alone.

Loss struck him again, cold and harsh and his heart picked up its tempo once more.

He didn't want to be alone.

No.

He _couldn't_ be alone.

Shiro hauled himself from the narrow bed, bare feet striking chilled floors.

He forewent the slippers even though they were ones he could manage with his missing arm as the pressing need to _be_ with someone, to not be in this quiet, silent, _dark_ room spurred his urgency.

Shiro stumbled into the small hallway that connected his room to the cargo bay and hurried through the echoing chamber towards the cockpit where he knew Keith would be even at this hour.

As he approached though his footsteps slowed and he could feel heat starting to stain his cheeks.

What was he doing?

A grown man fleeing from his bed as though a child awoken from a nightmare and looking for the comfort of a parent.

He came to a complete halt in the space just before he hit the cockpit.

He couldn't bother, burden, Keith with this. Keith had enough to worry about; thrown back into the role of the Black Paladin, responsible for keeping them all together as they flew to Earth on the meager rations they had managed to save and going on two days now without even a stop to land as there had been no inhabitable planets.

He was being stupid.

A cold shiver worked its way up his spine at the thought of returning to his room.

Dark..

Quiet.

 _Alone._

Shiro wrapped his one arm about his stomach in a hug, looking for a piece of comfort as he warred on the threshold.

He'd just…

Just take a peek. Make sure Keith was okay just like he used to on the castle on his nightly patrols as nightmares sent him from his bed. He hadn't burdened Keith or the others then.

He wasn't going to start now.

He knew a lot had changed in the past few weeks, but he liked to think they still saw him as a leader.

Maybe.

Guilt churned his stomach as hazy memories from his clone pressed in. Shiro remembered what _he_ had done; firing on the team, turning his back on them.

What he had said to Keith.

 _I should have abandoned you just like your parents did._

 _They saw that you were broken._

 _Worthless._

A cold chuckle.

 _I should have seen it too._

Shiro hunched over, feeling sick now too.

Keith had already told him he didn't believe it, didn't hold those words against him. And Shiro knew Keith spoke the truth.

It still hurt. It still hurt to know those words had left his lips, that Keith had had to hear them.

He'd done enough. Keith had had to deal with enough.

Shiro wasn't going to do anything more.

Just a quick peek, a reassurance that he was not alone on the Black Lion, whose faint presence while comforting was a harsh reminder of those months of forced solitude and nothingness.

Shiro poked his head around the door to the cockpit…

And found that Keith was not in the pilot's chair as he had anticipated but lying on the low cot further back, his space wolf curled up by his feet and his head pillowed in Krolia's lap, who had her head tilted back against the wall in slumber too.

Shiro's gaze softened and the roiling in his stomach quelled itself at the sight.

Keith had found his family.

Shiro hated the sharp pang that stabbed his heart.

He was so _happy_ for Keith. He just…

He missed him. Keith had been _his_ family, his little brother and more than the big brother program they'd met in had ever meant for it to be.

Shiro was alarmed to feel tears pricking at his eyes even as he smiled at the scene.

A sob tried to jerk its way up his throat and he hastily brought his hand up to his mouth, holding it in.

He needed to go. He didn't want to intrude on this.

There was a new feeling, a new loss, pricking at his heart. Keith had gained a mother and Shiro…

 _Shiro, please… you're my brother. I love you._

Shiro hiccuped back another sob.

He needed to step back. To let Keith be with his new family wherever that took him. They were on different paths now; Keith the leader of Voltron with his mom there and the Blades behind him and Shiro…

Shiro was only going to hold him back. He wasn't the same person Keith had once known, had looked up to. He was the broken one now. He knew that without a doubt. He would only hurt Keith; drag him down with his shattered memories and fears and history and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Shiro took a literal step back then.

It was for the best, to start now. The distance wouldn't hurt so much later then.

He would just—

"Where do you think you're going?"

Shiro froze.

Krolia did not move, did not open her eyes, but even so Shiro could feel the weight of her stare.

"I…" he swallowed thickly. "I—"

"Get over here."

Shiro mutely shook his head. "Krolia—"

"I said," her eyes were open now, narrowed at him with the tone of someone used to being obeyed, "get over here."

Shiro tentatively picked his way across the cockpit, trying to supress the shiver as the sweat that had soaked him was cooling now and he couldn't shake the feeling of being a kid again and about to be scolded by his obaasan.

"Sit," she directed as he reached the cot and she tapped the hand that was not gently carding now through Keith's long bangs next to her.

There wasn't much room but Shiro didn't think she cared for his protests.

He carefully perched himself on the edge, metal port that remained of his right arm bumping against the Galran. She reached around him and yanked on his left bicep, pulling him flush to the wall as she was and Shiro was too startled at the handling to offer any protest.

They sat in quiet then, broken up only by the gentle humming from the console and the low whuffling noises of the wolf and Shiro rubbed at his eyes, banishing the beginnings of the tears.

"What's wrong?" Krolia's tone had softened significantly and this close Shiro could make out the individual flecks of color in her purple eyes.

"Nothing," Shiro said quietly, lowering his gaze to his knees.

Krolia's fingers dug into his flesh arm where she had yet to remove it, almost a side-hug if it hadn't been quite so… violent.

"A nightmare," Shiro admitted, the words a breath as the remnants of _silence_ and _darkness_ and _please, can anyone hear me, is anyone there?_ pressed in. "I'm… I'm sorry for disturbing you, I just—"

He broke off. He didn't even know what he was trying to say.

"Shiro," his name was both firm and soft, "hush."

Her hand rose on his shoulder to his head and Shiro found himself being physically pushed over until his opposite cheek collided with Krolia's shoulder, fortunately not in her armor. Her fingers stroked through his hair, her thumb brushing against his face.

Tears Shiro could not explain filled his eyes and a breathy sob pushed its way free.

"You are safe here," Krolia murmured. "And you will _always_ have a place here, with us. With my son."

"But—" Shiro tried to protest, to explain how he was only going to hurt Keith, hurt all of them, but Krolia shushed him again.

"You looked after my son when I could not," she said quietly. "You protected him. Now it is time for us to do the same for you."

Shiro's shoulders shook. He felt the tears begin their trek.

"You are loved, Shiro," Krolia's hand stroked his cheek. "You are family. And you belong with us."

Another sob was pulled from Shiro even as his lips turned up into a tearful smile, pressing his forehead against Krolia's shoulder.

"Rest now," she said gently. "No nightmares will visit you here."

"Thank you," he whispered, words simple but he knew Krolia could feel the weight behind them. What they meant. What _this_ meant.

"No, Shiro," she corrected softly. "Thank _you."_

And safe in Krolia's embrace, no longer alone, never to be alone again, Shiro slept.

 **Author's Notes:**

Dawww. Shiro cuddles. This poor thing deserves them all and I love glimpsing into some of the PTSD that has to exist from the clone/trapped in the Astral Plane. Thanks, Krolia. You the best space mom. (uploaded a day early as I'm gonna be busy tomorrow xD

Enjoying it? **Please drop a comment below and give the author some love.** I'd love to hear your overall impression, a part that jumped out, a piece of dialogue... the small details make my day! Thank you!


	6. Forgotten Memories Found Once More

**Summary:** In the wee hours of the morning Hunk finds Lance. In a battletorn kitchen. _Crying_. That absolutely isn't okay. And Hunk is going to fix it.  
 **Timeline notes:** Season two-ish? But anywhere fits :)  
 **Warning notes:** None

 **Forgotten Memories Found Once More**

"Uh, Lance? What're you doing?"

Hunk hadn't thought he'd been that quiet even on slippered feet but Lance _startled_ so much that the bowl he'd been vigorously stirring slipped out of his grip and clattered with a _bang_ to the kitchen floor, sending what looked like batter flying.

Lance turned towards it but he didn't pick it up.

He stood there instead, shoulders curled in and as Hunk stepped closer he could see them trembling beneath Lance's robe, which was coated in the splatter as well as what looked like dusts of flour and something sticky; egg, maybe?

He could also see a shine trickling down Lance's face.

"Oh, _hermano,"_ Hunk closed the distance in another step and wrapped his arms about Lance from behind in a gentle but firm hug.

Lance let out a low sob and turned in the embrace, burying his face against Hunk's pajamas and fingers clinging into the fabric.

Hunk rubbed a hand against Lance's back and lifted his eyes past the dark head to survey the dimly lit kitchen for some answers.

He'd woken up himself just a bit ago and although it was only 0400 and he really should try and sleep for the remaining two hours he hadn't been able to fall back asleep and had decided he'd head to the kitchen and try out that breakfast bake he'd been thinking of making for a while now.

He never thought he'd find Lance.

And most definitely not attempting to cook. Lance wasn't bad (not _anything_ like Shiro's attempts) but alien ingredients were finicky and after he'd nearly poisoned them both with what he thought had been a pepper but was in fact a lethal herb when not cooked he'd sworn off any future attempts without "Hunk supervision."

Lance's ingredients seemed to be all over the place and Hunk didn't just mean how they covered both counters and now the floor. Flour and sugar in their alien colors of blue and gray dusted the entire landscape and broken eggshells dotted it around the multiple bowls and spoons. There were a number of different fruits, some peeled, some chopped, a few looking to be smashed and all oozing.

It was a kitchen warzone and Lance was somehow in the middle of it.

As the minutes ticked by Lance's faint trembles ceased and Hunk felt his shirt being released from no doubt a white-knuckled grip. Lance rocked back on his feet and Hunk lowered his arms so Lance could step out of the hug.

"Sorry, sorry," Lance murmured, voice thick as he rubbed a fist over his eyes, pointedly not meeting Hunk's. " _Lo siento_. I'll clean it up. Just give me a tick to—"

"Lance," Hunk interrupted, throwing a hand out to catch Lance's shoulder as he made to turn towards the fallen bowl. _"¿Qué pasa_ , _hermano?"_

" _Nada."_

Hunk frowned while raising an eyebrow. He changed direction. "What were you making?"

"A mess," came the short reply, followed by a huff of laughter that wasn't humorous at all.

Ocean eyes _finally_ flicked up to meet Hunk's own honey brown. "It's nothing. Really. I'm sorry for the mess."

"I don't care about the mess," Hunk frowned.

What was going on?

"I used up all of the eggs," Lance continued, looking away again. "And I think I ruined that one knife from trying to cut up that weird melon thing. And—"

"Lance, _stop,"_ the last word coming out both a plea and a command. "Stop, please. It's fine, okay? I don't care about the kitchen, I care about _you_. What's wrong?"

" _Es estúpido,"_ was the answering mutter.

"It's not stupid," Hunk countered. "Lance, _por favor, háblame."_

Lance let out a sigh and his arms wrapped tightly about his middle. "I… I forgot how to make panetela."

Hunk waited.

This was more than about a forgotten recipe, even if he knew it was a cherished one to Lance.

"It was Veronica's birthday yesterday and I forgot," Lance continued softly. "I forgot her birthday, Hunk. I…" He looked up, eyes sparkling with tears again and pitch growing higher. "I'm forgetting _everything._ I forgot the name of Nadia's favorite stuffed animal and Luis and Lisa's new address. I'm forgetting mamá's laugh and papá's hugs and… and…."

"Oh, Lance…"

"Are we ever going to go home?" Lance choked out. "Are we? Is this war ever going to end, Hunk?"

Hunk pulled Lance back into a hug, clutching him tight.

"Yes," Hunk said softly, closing his own eyes and trying to fight back tears.

He missed home so much too.

"You don't know that," Lance mumbled, muffled.

"I do," Hunk insisted gently. "I don't know the how or the when but we are going to go home. All of us. And we'll see our families and hug them and… and…"

He let out a loud sniffle.

"Oh, _Dios,_ Hunk," Lance pulled his face free. " _Lo siento._ I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm—"

Hunk cut him off by squeezing him tighter and Lance's apology turned into a small squeak.

"No apologizing," he said firmly. "Not… not for this, okay?"

"...'kay."

Hunk could feel Lance swallow thickly, throat bobbing on his chest.

"...Hunk?"

"Hm?"

"I'm… I'm glad you're here with me."

Hunk felt tears sting his eyes again. "Right… right back at you, _hermano."_

All was quiet then, peaceful, until an angry sounding sizzle permeated the air and Lance backpedaled out of the hug like he'd been lit on fire.

" _Dios,_ the stove!"

Hunk winced as he watched some concocotion — one of Lance's many attempts with alien fruit at guava paste no doubt — boil over the side of the pot. That was not going to be fun to clean up.

He surveyed the kitchen again, a small smile tugging up his lips.

"You know," he said, as Lance gingerly with giant hotpads moved the burning pot to an unused burner, "it looks like we still have more than enough eggs scrambled about to make a small panetela and I know a fruit from the one I made for your birthday that I still see on hand. What do you say, _hermano,_ want to make some panetela in honor of Veronica's birthday?"

Lance's lip wobbled. "Y-yes."

"Let's clean up just a bit first," Hunk said, bending down and picking up the batter bowl from the floor. "And then we'll make enough to feed everyone for breakfast. I mean, it has fruit, so it's sort of healthy enough, right?"

Lance let out a wet chuckle. "That's something _I_ would argue, Hunk. Where's you and your protein spiel?"

"I'll cook up some sausages too," Hunk shrugged with an easy grin. "Get us all ready for training in a few hours."

Lance groaned but Hunk could see the smile behind it.

" _Gracias,_ Hunk," Lance said softly as Hunk joined him behind the counter. "I… I couldn't do this without you."

Hunk knew he wasn't talking about the panetela.

"Me either," Hunk agreed quietly, reaching a hand out and giving Lance's shoulder a squeeze and being graced with a smile that could brighten the darkest recess of space.

And while those feelings of homesickness were not going to go away anytime soon and their loss was still painful, in this moment Hunk felt like he was back at home and everything was right in the world.

No.

He smiled at Lance's head, bowed over the sink and scrubbing at one of the pots with a grimace.

Everything was right in the universe.

 **Author's Notes:**

A little mini gift fic for the beautiful soul that is Asterein. Thank you so much for all of your support hun. It means the world I hope you enjoy this little platonic Hance moment that I loosely based upon your Lance's birthday panetela drawing!

Enjoy it? **Please drop a comment below and give the author some love.** I'd love to hear your overall impression, a part that jumped out, a piece of dialogue... the small details make my day! Thank you!


	7. Shoot or Starve

**Summary:** _You will shoot or you will starve._ Those are the conditions laid out to Lance if he wants to eat again. But he won't. He won't murder for them. He would rather die. He very well may get his wish.  
 **Timeline notes:** Anywhere in later season three through season five.  
 **Warning notes:** Nothing really applicable  
 **Additional notes:** For Tumblr follower kiriban event with prompt: Lance with Denied Food as Punishment :)

 **Shoot Or Starve**

Day one hadn't been a problem. Neither had day two. Day three had been bearable and day four through five the same although he was starting to feel dizzy and light headed and the water ration they gave him was not enough to fill his gnawing stomach.

By what he thought was day six though he was curled on his side, thin arms wrapped about himself as it was so _cold_ and the effort of shivering was exhausting and at what point did he _stop_ being hungry?

He didn't know.

What Lance did know was that no matter what he could not do what they wanted him to.

Even if an entire plate of garlic knots descended in front of him, with their flaky golden crust and warm, tender buttery insides and the perfect blend of garlic and parmesan and—

His stomach let out a mournful gurgle and Lance squeezed his eyes shut tight as though doing so would push away the image of the food.

When he opened them there was no food.

The rifle, however, was still there.

Uncharged, of course.

They weren't stupid.

Lance glared at it.

Then shivered.

His stomach moaned.

What if he just… pretended to agree?

He winced, feeling the skin pull above his eye where they'd clubbed him and it had only _finally_ stopped bleeding the other day.

That's right. He'd already tried that.

Hadn't ended well.

 _You will shoot or you will starve._

The words of this side's leader echoed in his head.

Lance grit his teeth and curled up tighter.

He almost wished he'd been captured by the Galra. As horrible as that would be they, he liked to think at least, would know he was more valuable to them alive than dead.

These aliens didn't think that at all.

It was no loss to them if Lance died. And he had no doubt they would kill him if this kept on for much longer and their patience tired. The only thing they wanted from him was his sharpshooting skills and he would not, could not, help them.

He would not murder for them.

He'd rather _die._

He may very well get his wish.

 _You will shoot or you will starve._

They checked in on him once a day, both for his answer and to deliver a single cup of water. At least Lance assumed it was a day as his cell had no windows and it was hard to mark the passage of time as he spent as much time as he could fitfully sleeping to conserve energy.

His limbs were leaden anyways and a dull ache had permanently settled into his head.

He wondered if the team was missing him yet.

He'd been sent to the planet for what was supposed to be a light peacekeeping mission, just to oversee a diplomatic meeting between two opposing religious sects.

It had all gone wrong when one side had pulled a gun and shot the daughter of the other. Lance recalled the horror as her body had fallen just yards from him, hole through her head and long ears seeming to float as she fell back.

He'd shouted something, maybe stop, it was all hazy now, but both sides had come more armed than the "do not bring weapons" stipulation of the meeting implied and a firefight had broken out right in front of him.

Lance had made the split-second decision to cover the side of whose daughter had been shot, setting his own blaster to stun to just quell the threat for now, to stop any more bloodshed. He'd fired not even a dozen times, each one a perfect headshot, when he'd seen a grenade roll onto the ground.

He'd dove, prayed his armor would hold and…

And woken up in this cell, stripped of his armor and been told those words.

They had said nothing else.

 _You will shoot or you will starve._

Lance refused.

He'd told them so in many other words, tried to reason with them.

They didn't listen.

Lance told himself he just had to hold out. The mission was supposed to be for a week of discussion and terms and then a party afterward celebrating the newfound peace. When he didn't show back up at the castle then the team would come.

He just prayed they didn't get caught in the crossfire too.

He would never forgive himself if they…

The daughter was replaced with Pidge in his mind, a gaping hole blown through her forehead and honey eyes dulled.

Lance shuddered and swallowed down the weak taste of stomach bile.

No.

It wasn't going to happen.

Even though he could do nothing to stop it.

The door to his cell creaked open.

"No," Lance told them before they could ask, face pressed against his arm.

"Well, if you want to stay here I won't force you to leave, but—"

Lance uncurled at the first sound of the voice, not the whispery hiss of the aliens but of—

"Matt," he gasped, eyes widened at the sight of the rebel.

What was he doing here? Lance didn't really care, he'd take the rescue please and thank you.

Matt's joking tone though had been replaced with a look of concern that could not hide the dark anger pulling at his mouth as no doubt the wound on his head became visible.

"'m okay," Lance reassured him, getting shakily to his feet.

The world tipped.

He faintly realized he couldn't recall the last time he'd stood up.

He'd have fallen right back down if Matt hadn't caught him, one arm tight about his waist and the other thrown over his shoulders.

Lance titled his head up and gave him a weak grin. "Thanks, man."

"Thank the princess," Matt told him, starting a slow walk and Lance had to put more focus on placing his feet than he'd thought. "She was worried when you didn't contact Voltron and unfortunately the rest of the team's mixed up in a bit of a situation right now. Nothing crazy," he reassured as Lance's next step faltered, "but they couldn't spare anyone at the moment and asked if the rebels could pop over. Glad we did. You're really all right?"

"Allura was worried about me?"

Lance could feel Matt's eye roll.

"You're fine," the older boy shook his head, even as he tightened his arm about Lance's shoulder in a hug and Lance squeezed back at the arm he had pulled around Matt's side.

He was fine.

And he would be much better once he had a whole plate of garlic knots.

His stomach rumbled.

He told Matt his meal plans.

Matt told him he had freeze dried food goo on his ship if he wanted something a little sooner than it would take to get back to the castle, retrieve Hunk from his current mission and then figure out the space equivalent to garlic, which could very well take another week.

Lance decided freeze dried food goo sounded heavenly.

It was not.

Lance ate the entire portion anyway to the gathered rebels' horror and awe, increasing when he asked for seconds and he let that buoy him, to push away the cold words and colder rifle and cell and replace it with warm laughter and strangely warm food goo and the good kind of rumbling of his stomach.

He was going to be fine indeed.

 **Author's notes:**

Since the prompt had Matt as a secondary backup plan I thought I'd try to include him in this one for shiggles. Don't write the goofball rebel much but I adore him so here we go and Lance is grateful as without that decision this was going to end with him still in that cell ;p

Enjoy the fic? Please leave a comment below!


	8. One More Time, With Feeling

**Summary:** One more time, Pidge promised herself. This time she'd get free. This time she'd do it. Her neck lit up with pain and fire and she let out a hoarse scream, collapsing. Not this time.

 **Timeline notes:** Any season other than seven applicable :)  
 **Warning notes:** Shock collar on Pidge. Poor thing.  
 **Additional notes:** For Tumblr follower kiriban event with prompt: How about using shock collar with Pidge?

Pidge swallowed heavily, feeling the collar bob against her raw throat.

She swallowed again.

One more time.

This time she would get through.

She angled her feet, putting all of her weight on her right one.

And she charged.

Her neck sizzled.

Pidge screamed.

She kept going.

Any second now, any second…

Black spots danced in her vision and Pidge stumbled backwards.

Her legs collapsed below her and she took a hard sit, harsh pants intermingled with moans as she hunched over, hands going to her abused neck as though to comfort it.

It only hurt more.

Tear lined eyes lifted to glare at what appeared to be nothing.

Pidge _hated_ this prison.

It was _mocking_ her.

What looked like an empty piece of flat land was surrounded by some sort of invisible forcefield that was linked to the ring about her neck.

Pidge growled at it.

It was a fucking shock collar. And she was the disobedient dog that was trying to wander outside of its yard.

Fuck. Them.

The aliens had dumped her here without even a guard, patting her on the head as she tried to bite their stupidly long fingers, and told her to "be good" and they would collect her after they finished inspecting the Green Lion, which had joined Pidge in this misadventure of rock collecting from the "strange magnetic waves" planet and she'd just _had_ to take a look and snuck down while the castle was anchored above it and everyone else was asleep.

Well.

She was getting an up and close personal look now at the rocks that had caught her interest.

She hated them.

She hated the aliens for underestimating her simply because of her size and appearance.

She hated that she had yet to prove them wrong.

Pidge had learned in the near two varga she had been trapped here quite a bit about her prison and the situation. She knew that the collar, which no matter how much she twisted and tugged she could not free herself from, had some of the rocks embedded in it and that they reacted based on proximity to what she guessed was its opposite charge in the larger rocks that surrounded the corners of her prison and kept her in the twelve by twelve foot square.

She learned that she had no tools in which to break the rocks free of the collar and attempting to smash it against the ground had failed as her head had gotten in the way. She'd stopped after nearly giving herself a concussion.

The only thing she had found that could destroy the rocks was the rocks themselves.

She'd discovered such after her fourth run at the wall, trying to power through the pain as the collar lit up about her neck, and a piece of stone had chipped off, managing to fall just so that she saw it as she had fallen to her knees.

The rocks disintegrated over repeated use.

The solution was then clear: she had to remove all of the rocks as without them the collar was just a piece of metal and she could then escape.

The problem became obvious: there were a lot of fucking rocks.

She'd felt out a total of four embedded in the collar, approximately the size of a large marble. And each time she charged into the forcefield and managed to withstand the shocks for at least ten ticks she lost a tiny little piece from one.

It was going to take a long, long while.

Pidge had tried just battling through, figuring once she passed the boundary of the boulder, about a foot in width, she'd pop right out.

It hadn't worked.

There was a pushback the two times she'd managed to force herself to stay in, to drag her feet forward, a pulse almost that had thrown her backwards.

Slow and steady.

It was harder than it sounded.

Knowing the pain that awaited her was not a motivator in the slightest. Her neck was rubbed raw, light burns covering it from the repeated shocks, and her throat worse. She would kill someone for a glass of water.

Eventually the team would wake up, discover she was missing, someone would remember her expressing a desire to visit the planet and Allura saying they did not have the time and they would come down and find her.

But that would be vargas from now and Pidge didn't want to be here a minute longer. She didn't know what they were doing to Green, if they were _hurting_ her, and given their treatment of herself earlier, the head pats and chuckles and then the fucking collar, Pidge didn't want to know what they were going to do to her when they came back.

She was small, she knew that. And these aliens were large, nearly seven feet and with the width to match. She physically had no advantage against them and she would be unable to fight them off if they tried to do anything to her.

She shuddered.

She had to get out.

The collar was down to one rock piece now, barely a nub. She'd tried yanking it out, only scratching her fingers for her efforts.

One more time.

It had become her mantra.

She weakly pulled herself to her knees and then to shaking legs.

One more time.

This pain was _nothing._

Nothing compared to what they could do.

She hit the barrier again.

And again.

And again.

Her voice was gone now, a hoarse rasp of pain.

She swayed.

One more time.

She stumbled forward.

It took a tick for her to realize what had happened.

Her legs shook and she went to her knees.

She'd done it.

She was free.

A trembling hand went to the collar and sure enough the last piece of stone had crumbled away.

She'd done it.

Pidge let out a sob of sheer relief.

She gave herself a minute, hunched over, to just _breathe._

Honey eyes lifted then, hardened with determination. It wasn't over yet. She still had to get back to Green, evade the aliens and then launch.

But she knew she could do it.

They were going to regret ever underestimating her.

 **Author's Notes:**

Yeah Pidge! It's hard to whump her just because she's… so small and precious and I don't like her hurt, but here we are. Enjoy the fic? **Please drop a comment below and give the author some love.** I'd love to hear your overall impression, a part that jumped out, a piece of dialogue... the small details make my day!


	9. 00:00

**Summary:** "I'm not leaving you," Lance said, voice catching. "Don't say that, don't you—"  
"Lance," Shiro interrupted him. "Please."  
 **Timeline notes:** Season two  
 **Warning notes:** I sobbed like a baby writing this. Oh, and major character death.  
 **Additional notes:** For Tumblr follower kiriban event with prompt: How about having Shiro strapped to a bomb with Lance as the secondary character trying to save him.

 **00:00**

It was a trap.

Well, they'd known it was a trap. It couldn't be anything else when the castle had received an audio clip of Shiro screaming and the gravelly voice of a revenge-bound Galran who had lost family to "the brutish Champion" and had gone to great strides to spirit Shiro away during an on the ground battle. The message stated that he was going to blow Shiro up and all of them too within the varga.

He hadn't provided any other information.

Pidge had managed to hack the signal, a relief as Shiro's armor had gone offline, and they had taken off immediately via a wormhole.

Allura had stressed caution, going down to what looked like an old, abandoned _huge_ base with them.

It hadn't mattered.

They'd been on the ground for a matter of minutes, split up to cover as much ground as possible, when the first explosion had rocketed the area.

Another one had followed seconds after.

Keith, Hunk had reported, sounding frantic. A land mine. He'd seen it from his higher location. Keith was… Keith was down.

Pidge had keyed in then, voice high with pain, reporting the same. She'd activated her thrusters to push her away once she heard the first one, but…

But her legs were busted. She couldn't help any more.

The Galran's words hung over them.

All of them were going to blow up.

It had been a warning as well as a threat.

Keith still wasn't responding.

Allura had ordered Hunk to retrieve Keith as he saw his location. She said they were all to use the jetpacks and float, touching down only as needed to propel. Pidge shakily announced she could get herself back to the ship.

Allura and Lance went on ahead.

Time continued to tick down.

Hunk rejoined them about twenty minutes later, quietly reporting Keith was alive but still unconscious. He was burned. Badly. Coran was with him and Pidge now.

They'd been at it for almost forty dobashes, shouting for Shiro at the top of their lungs as they burst through every closed door, traversed every hall.

He didn't respond once.

Allura made the call to pull back, voice shaky, at the fifty mark. An hour had been their warning and given what had already happened she had no doubt it was accurate.

They didn't even know that Shiro was here.

Lance refused to give up.

Lance had taken off at a dead sprint, forgoing the slower search with the boosters, and flinging open every door, screaming for Shiro to respond.

He'd take his chances because Shiro didn't have a chance if he didn't.

On the last door of his current hallway Lance had found Shiro.

Unconscious, blood covering his temple.

Strapped to what most definitely would be a bomb connected to enough boxes and crystals that Lance didn't have to imagine what would happen if it went off.

The counter read 03:28.

He'd called out his find. He needed Hunk to disable it.

Hunk quietly keyed in he wouldn't make it in time. He was over five minutes out at his current position. A sob had muffled most of his reply.

Allura reported she was nearly back at the ship and would not make it either.

It was up to Lance.

02:59

Lance had spent the next thirty seconds futilely pulling at the restraints that kept Shiro tethered to both the bomb and the largest of the crystals, easily triple Shiro's size and not something Lance had the physical strength to move.

It wouldn't budge.

Hunk pleaded with Lance over the comms to come back.

They… they couldn't lose him too.

They'd already…

They'd already decided...

Lance yanked the helmet off.

He couldn't afford distractions.

Even if he had not a clue what he was doing.

But he was not leaving Shiro here.

02:29

"Hang on," he promised, voice high as he fired his bayard point blank at the connecting links. "Hang on Shiro, it's gonna be okay. I'm… I'm gonna get you out."

There was another sound now over the of blaster fire echoing in his ear.

Lance ignored it.

He couldn't afford a delay.

He paused his shooting after twenty rounds to look at his progress.

Not a dent.

Not a quiznacking dent.

02:02

He sucked in a sob. Over it he heard the sound again.

It was his name.

"Shiro!" he gasped, pivoting to the front. "Shiro!"

"Lance," Shiro rasped. Charcoal eyes looked up and met his and in them Lance could see the resignation.

No.

No.

"Go," Shiro whispered, holding his gaze.

01:44

"I'm not leaving you," Lance said, voice catching. "Don't say that, don't you—"

"Lance," Shiro interrupted him. " _Please."_

"I have time," Lance whispered. "I can get you free, Shiro. I can. I just need a, a tick."

"Lance," Shiro's voice was firmer now, his eyes sharper even as tears gathered in the corners.

He didn't need to say it.

They both knew Lance wasn't going to be able to free him.

Not in time.

01:32

"No," Lance whispered, dropping to his knees and putting him level with Shiro. "No. Shiro. I…" his voice broke with a sob. "I'm _sorry._ I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Lance," Shiro cut in again. "It's okay."

"It's _not."_

Lance leaned forward then, wrapping his arms tight about what he could of Shiro's chest, digging his face into the armored plates. He felt Shiro bow his head, breath hot on his neck, in his own version of a hug.

No.

This couldn't be happening.

No. _Dios,_ no. Please no.

"Can you do something for me?" Shiro asked softly.

"A-anything," Lance hiccuped, even as he silently cried out no, he wouldn't do anything because Shiro could do it himself.

"Tell them I'm sorry," Shiro murmured. "Tell them, I…" Lance heard him swallow thickly. He clung harder to the armor. "I know they can do it."

"Sh-Shiro," Lance sobbed.

01:02

"Tell Pidge… tell _Katie_ she will find her family. They're out there. She will find them."

Shiro was crying now, Lance could feel the tears falling into his hair.

This couldn't be it.

"And tell Keith," Shiro's voice caught on the name. "Tell Keith I… I love him. Tell him I believe in him. He… he can do anything. Tell him I'll _never_ give up on him," Shiro was shaking now and Lance clutched him harder. " _Please._ Tell him. Make sure he knows."

"I will," Lance promised. "I w-will. Shiro, I… I…"

00:45

"Thank you," Shiro whispered. "Thank you, Lance."

Lance sobbed.

He didn't want to leave.

He _couldn't_ leave.

Shiro...

"You have to go," Shiro murmured, rubbing his head against Lance's cheek.

A final farewell.

"I c-can't," Lance cried. "Shiro, _por favor_ , I…"

He couldn't leave Shiro here.

Shiro was going to _die._

He was going to die _alone._

"Lance, buddy, look at me."

00:31

Lance pulled his tear-streaked face away from Shiro's chest, meeting an equally tear-filled gaze. Shiro mustered up a watery looking smile that Lance couldn't even try to match.

"You are the bravest, most selfless, kindest person I've had the honor to meet," Shiro said quietly. "You're going to do great things, Lance. Don't...don't ever forget that."

"'K-kay," Lance managed, the word so inadequate but his throat was too tight, too choked for anything else. "Sh-Shiro…"

"Go," Shiro repeated, pleaded. "You have to get clear."

Lance leaned forward, wrapping Shiro up once more in as much of a hug as he could, squeezing him tight.

00:14

His feet moved then without his accord, stopping at his fallen helmet and jamming it over his head.

His thrusters activated.

00:10

"Good bye, Shiro," Lance whispered, holding that charcoal gaze for as long as he could.

Oh _Dios._

This was really..

This was really...

Shiro inclined his head. "Good bye."

00:06

Lance took off for the high window, shooting out the glass.

Voices were screaming in his ear over the comms. He didn't have time to respond.

00:00

Lance felt the blast more than he heard it.

He was sent tumbling head over heels, flames licking at his back.

Everything went silent as he fell, only his pulse pounding in his ears followed by a high ringing.

He smashed into the ground outside the base, rolling and bumping painfully until he came to a stop on his back.

The burning base lit up the sky, fire and smoke pouring from all sides.

Shiro…

Lance choked on a sob.

Shiro...

"Lance!" his name was being screamed over the still ringing sound, Hunk and Allura and Pidge and Coran and even Keith, a whisper in the background.

"Lance, come in!" Hunk begged. "Please! Lance!"

He reached a trembling hand towards his comm.

"I'm…" he swallowed. Paused. "I'm here."

Shiro was not.

He couldn't say it.

The silence, the omission, spoke for itself.

Keith's broken cry echoed over the comms.

 **Author's notes:**

I should say, my sister vehemently opposed ending it like this and wanted a keyed in "me too" courtesy of Shiro as he somehow survived. Alas, he did not. Lance is many many wonderful things, but a bomb defuser he is not. I will have you know I was sobbing like a baby while writing this so I suffered right along with you. Also, the prompt had the telling word "trying" and I was like, well, ask and ye shall receive.

If you enjoyed the fic **please leave a comment.** It only takes a moment and a little author appreciation goes a long, long way. Thank you.


	10. The Loud One Works Too

**Summary:** After Lance disrupts Zethrid from going after Pidge for information she decides that the loud one could work too. Ezor agrees. "I'm sure his screams are lovely."  
 **Timeline notes:** Set in season seven, episode three.  
 **Warning notes:** None  
 **Additional notes:** For Tumblr follower kiriban event with prompt:Lifted by neck - Lance

 **The Loud One Works Too**

"I'd bet half my fleet that this group of heroes has a soft spot for the small one."

Zethrid's words echoed in the cell and her gaze turned toward Pidge, fangs pulling into a smile. "You."

Pidge's eyes widened behind her glasses, a soft, barely audible gasp pulled from her lips.

Zethrid stepped forward.

Lance knew he was severely outclassed by the two part-Galrans and the energy cuffs weren't helping that in any way, but like heck was he going to let either of them harm a hair on Pidge's head.

Not on his watch.

"Don't you touch her!"

He lunged forward, swinging his bound arms at Ezor, half-hoping the rest of the team would leap into action too and overwhelm the two commanders turned pirates with sheer numbers.

Ezor easily dodged, a laugh on her lips.

Lance barely had time to turn around, to try again, when she kicked her leg out and connected solidly with his chest.

He went flying, skidding on his back along the cell floor with a shout.

He planted his feet, tensing to leap up…

And a hand wrapped about his neck and _slammed_ his head against the ground.

Lance saw stars.

He gagged as the hand tightened — Zethrid, he identified, — and then _lifted_ him up, all of his weight dangling from the hold.

Black spots danced in his eyes.

He faintly heard shouting.

Hunk?

"I suppose we could always torture the loud one," Zethrid mused, giving him a shake.

Lance gagged again, weakly raising his bound hands up and fingers scrabbling at the underside of Zethrid's single hand, leaving barely there scratches behind.

It did no good.

The black spots took up more of his vision.

Lance could blearily make out his team looking at him, horror and anger etched in their faces.

"What do you think, Ezor? Does this one work for you instead?"

A more slender hand lighted upon his cheek followed by another giggle.

Lance unsuccessfully tried to jerk his head away from her touch.

She laughed again. "I'm sure his screams are lovely." Her thumb rubbed his cheek. "Just like his skin. So _smooth."_

Hunk took a step forward and Lance saw in his peripheral Krolia shift her stance.

"Uh uh," Zethrid chided and somehow her grip tightened even more. "One more step and I'll break his scrawny neck."

Hunk halted abruptly.

Lance's hands fell limp in front of him from his useless attempt at pulling Zethrid's away.

"Now, what shall we do first?" Zethrid asked, turning her arm so Lance was forced to look at her face. "I've always been partial to explos—"

An alarm blared.

Lance's breath hitched in a way that had nothing to do with his nearly closed airway.

 _Gracias a Dios._

"What the...?" Ezor looked up at the ceiling as though it held the answers.

Zethrid scowled. "Damnit."

Her hold loosened and suddenly there was _air_ as Lance fell from her grasp, landing painfully on his knees as his legs kicked out and tried to get underneath him.

The two Galrans took off without another word, cell door slamming closed behind them and Lance doubled over, coughing.

"Lance, _hermano,_ you okay?" Hunk was kneeling in front of him then, his own bound hands clutching at Lance's forearm while the others gathered around.

"Y-yeah," Lance rasped, reflexive tears brimming in his eyes from the coughing.

He was fine.

Pidge was unhurt.

And now it was time to get the heck out of here.

 **Author's notes:** I adored this scene so so much (protective Lance over Pidge? Gimme ) but I always hated the fact that no one else did anything. Like, wtf? You're Paladins of Voltron with a kickass Blade member and Romelle has shown her mettle at this point too. No one else jumped in? Anyways, rewrite of it with some Lance whump because protective Lance and whumped Lance is best Lance. Mmm. Enjoy? **Please leave a comment below give some love to the author!**


	11. Crimson Promises

**Summary:** There's blood everywhere except where it should be, which is inside Lance. All Hunk can do is hold him as he shivers, respond to his confused, pained breathless words and pray that help arrives soon.  
 **Timeline notes:** Not really applicable, but set season four or five  
 **Warning notes:** A lot of blood. Like. A lot of blood.  
 **Additional notes:** For Tumblr follower kiriban event with prompt: _hi uh for the whump bi go thing can you do bleeding out wit lancey Lance_

 **Crimson Promises**

Hunk's stomach desperately wanted to vomit out all of its contents.

He forced himself to hold it in.

The last thing needed here was _more_ bodily fluids.

He risked another glance down and felt the bile tickle his throat.

Nope.

It was not getting better.

And Lance was getting worse.

Such was enough to sober Hunk's stomach and he reached out a shaking, blood-stained hand towards his best friend's face, pillowed in his lap.

"Lance?" he whispered. " _Hermano?"_

Lance let out a whimper, hands twitching where they laid at his sides.

Hazy blue eyes blinked open. "Hunk?" he rasped.

"Right here," Hunk picked up one of the hands in his own, squeezing it and trying to push heat back into it. "You're doing great. They're… they're almost here."

Ten minutes out Pidge had relayed a while ago, voice tight.

Hunk didn't know if Lance had ten minutes.

The shrapnel from the explosion that had sliced through his underarmor, ripping open his stomach, told a very different story.

It said they had maybe five more, if that.

It had already been almost twenty, but none of the other Paladins had been able to break away from the fight to come to their aid without drawing enemy ships after them and putting the two stranded and immobile Paladins on the ground in even more danger.

Based on the still growing puddle of blood surrounding them as Lance's stomach continued to pump and send it gushing down his sides Hunk wondered if the enemy ships were really the true danger at this point.

"Who… who's they?" Lance slurred, eyes already fluttering closed.

"No no, stay awake," Hunk tapped the too pale cheek with his bare hand, his gloves long gone in a failed attempt to make a bandage of any sort for Lance. "C'mon, _hermano…_ don't… don't go to sleep."

If he fell asleep Hunk didn't know if he was going to wake up.

"'Mm," Lance mumbled. "'m tired though. No more… no more studyin'. 'm not gonna pass any...anyways."

"Of course you'll pass," Hunk choked out. He'd been playing along with whatever conversation Lance started up as confusion settled over him with the continued blood loss, but the fact so many of them kept veering in a darker spiral had him nearly as worried as the injury.

He had to be at about twenty percent loss now, Hunk estimated.

More than enough to send him into hypovolemic shock. He was already displaying more severe symptoms.

Lance's brow furrowed. "You… you want salt? Gonna ruin it. Y'know better."

"You're right, you're right," Hunk murmured. He glanced down the length of Lance's body, making certain his feet hadn't slipped off the rock Hunk had rolled over after tucking them under the overhang of a small hill and as out of sight of potential enemy eyes as he could. "Too much salt is bad."

Lance hummed in agreement.

"Lance, no sleeping," Hunk pleaded as he felt Lance's head tip slightly and the harsh, shallow breaths became muffled on Hunk's armor. "C'mon. Stay awake, okay?"

"'m cold," Lance murmured instead. "'m cold, Hunk."

He emphasized this by shivering.

A new line of crimson added itself to the growing puddle.

"I know, I know," Hunk whispered, bringing his hand that wasn't holding tight to Lance's hand down to the other shoulder and rubbing it, trying to generate some heat through the underarmor. He'd already stripped off Lance's chestplate and arm guards for easier breathing and to make Lance more comfortable, but he was wondering now if maybe the weight would have been good to warm him.

No, he shook his head. It wouldn't have mattered.

He had kept Lance's belt on, bringing it up some to wrap about Lance's navel as though it could Lance's insides inside of him.

It wasn't doing much.

The wound was too deep.

Too wide.

There was so much blood.

"Two minutes," Pidge keyed into his ear.

"Hurry," Hunk whispered back.

"No, no hurry," Lance mumbled. "You'll trip."

"Pidge is flying," Hunk told him, shifting his other hand back to Lance's head, combing bloodied fingers through the brown locks. "She can't trip."

"Pidge's flying?" Lance frowned. "But 'm the pilot."

"You still are," Hunk pressed two fingers to Lance's pulse on his neck. "You're an amazing pilot."

It beat rapidly.

Too fast.

Too shallow.

"Nu uh," Lance shook his head weakly. "'ways crash." His right hand rose slightly. "Boom."

"No, not boom." He tapped his hand against Lance's cheek even as his heart clenched again at the newest admission.

They were going to have a talk when this was all over. And when. Not if. _When._

"C'mon _hermano,"_ Hunk cajoled. "Let me see those pretty blues of yours."

Lance's lips twitched up into a smile. "'kay."

His eyes remained closed.

"Lance, c'mon, _miráme,"_ Hunk ordered, voice breaking. _"Miráme."_

Lance's eyes fluttered open before he closed them with a groan. "'s too bright."

There was a roar then, a whoosh of air.

Hunk almost cried as the Green Lion swooped overhead.

"Pidge is here," he told Lance. "Allura too. C'mon, _hermano,_ don't you want to say hi to the princess?"

"Princess?" Lance repeated. "A r-real one? Really?"

Allura was already descending from the Green Lion before Pidge could even land the ship while Shiro and the Black Lion showed up a few ticks later, remaining in the air and standing guard.

"Really," Hunk promised, meeting Allura's eyes as the Altean sprinted for them.

He'd never seen Allura run before. Or look so _scared._

"She's… she's super pretty," Hunk continued, trying to talk over his own rapidly pounding heart now. "And smart. And she's your friend."

Allura was at his side now, dropping to her knees and making a splash in the blood puddle.

Hunk's stomach reminded him how it had been being ignored for a while now.

He shushed it.

"'m friends with… with a princess?" Lance mumbled.

"Yes, you are," Allura said, shooting Hunk a confused look even as she slid one hand under Lance's knees and the other beneath the slight gap behind Lance's shoulders.

Lance's eyes flew open at the new voice.

He blinked.

"Wow," he said, voice dazed. "You _are_ really pr...pretty."

"And up we go," Allura said in response, standing in one swoop with Lance cradled in her arms.

He moaned, head lolling back against her chest, eyes closed again.

"Leave the armor," Allura ordered as Hunk leapt to his own shaking feet, Lance's upper pieces scattered about them. "We have no time to waste."

Hunk agreed completely.

He charged up the ramp right behind Allura, the Lion taking off as soon as they were inside.

Allura had already pulled out the travel cot in the cockpit and procured every piece of emergency medical equipment she could find although she looked at a loss of what to do.

Hunk elbowed past her, grabbed one of the folded blankets, whispered an apology and pressed it down over Lance's stomach.

He jerked on the cot, a whimper pulled from his lips.

Not the reaction Hunk had expected or wanted.

He was fading.

"No," he whispered, pressing down harder, as though seeing Lance in pain was a comfort.

It was, in a sick, twisted way.

"Hold that," he commanded Allura and she did so without question. Hunk grabbed the emergency heat packs, broke them to start the reaction, and began to pile them about Lance; on his chest, between his arms and sides, and then grabbed a second blanket, shaking it out and spreading it over Lance's lower half, pausing only to re-prop Lance's feet on the empty emergency kit box.

Lance shuddered and shivered.

Hunk moved to his side and picked up Lance's left hand and clutched it between his own.

"Hold on, _hermano,"_ he whispered, looking at the pain-lined face that he liked to imagine had a small dash of color back in it from the heat.

"Wormholing now," Pidge called from the front, voice wavering. "One minute till landing. Coran has a pod prepped. Is… is he…?"

"Lance is strong," Allura said quietly, having not paused in her orders even as blood had welled up about her gloves. "He shall be all right." She met Hunk's eyes. "He is dear friends with a certain princess after all, and she will not accept any other outcome."

Hunk let out a wet, slightly hysterical chuckle.

"Hear that, _hermano?"_ he squeezed Lance's hand, choking back a sob. "No dying now. Princess's orders."

"'kay," Lance breathed. "No… no dying."

"No dying," Hunk repeated, feeling something loosen in his chest.

Even though he knew Lance was delirious at this point he felt comforted by the words, the promise.

Lance was many things but he was not a liar, not even now.

Hunk believed him with all his heart.

Lance was going to be okay. Here. Now. And later.

Hunk would make sure of it.

That was his own promise.

 **Author's notes:** Writing delirium is really really _really_ fun. Thank you, blood loss, for this opportunity. Platonic Hance for my soul and a little Allura too. Precious. Enjoy? **Please leave a comment below and give some love to the author!**

(Enjoying my work? Follow me on tumblr, icypantherwrites)

 **EDIT:** Due to the continuing severe decline in commentator-ship this chapter and one more of _Battlefield_ will be the last updates posted here on fanfiction dot net. All future updates and stories will take place solely on my Archive of Our Own account, username icypanther. Hope to see you there!


	12. I Pledge Allegiance To

**READ VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTES AT END!**

 **Summary:** Kneel and pledge allegiance to Lotor or suffer the consequences, those are Keith's choices. He's willing to die to remain free. But… is he willing to barter Lance's fate too?  
 **Timeline notes:** AU following season six episode four, The Colony.  
 **Warning notes:** Lotor being a creep? Otherwise nothing.  
 **Additional notes:** For Tumblr follower kiriban event with prompt: _Hi. Can I request Keith and the forced to kneel/bow prompt with Lance as the secondary character?_

 **I Pledge Allegiance to...**

"Kneel."

The command came, cold and haughty and Keith bristled at it, at the lounging figure on the throne.

They should never have trusted Lotor.

His own gaze narrowed, sharp amethyst meeting cruel yellow purple.

"No."

"It was not a request," Lotor sat up in his throne. "Kneel and pledge your allegiance to me or suffer the consequences."

"I would rather die."

Lotor let out an exaggerated sigh. "So dramatic. Here I am, offering you, a halfbreed just like me, the chance to join my new and glorious empire and you are so quick to refuse. Foolish. Isn't he foolish, Shiro?"

Keith grit his teeth as the figure that had once been his older brother gave a jerky nod, charcoal eyes morphed with a reddish-purple hue.

A clone, they'd learned, loyal to Haggar and thus Lotor, who she had put upon the throne.

A fact they had learned too late.

They were all paying the price now.

Keith still didn't know what had happened to the real Shiro and he felt sick at his cowardice for not asking, because as vague as the hope was that Shiro was still in there, somehow, he still had that hope and he couldn't bear to lose it.

Not yet.

He'd already lost so much.

Lotor had rounded up all of the Blades of Marmora, imprisoning or killing those who would not pledge allegiance depending on their "worth" according to the prince, now emperor. He'd had to watch Kolivan's throat be slit right in front of him and the other Blades, a warning Lotor had said, to those who did not conform.

He'd never forget the sound Kolivan made, that death gurgle as blood spilled over and his eyes finally, finally went dim..

He'd never forgive Lotor.

Lotor was now using Voltron's vast intelligence network and Shiro's influence to retake control of freed planets in the name of the Galra, to summon former allies and slaughter them in cold blood if he found them wanting.

It sickened Keith.

He had no idea still of what had happened to the Paladins, he tried hard not to think the worst. They had to have value to Lotor, right? They would… they would be okay.

They _had_ to be okay.

He didn't know about himself.

Keith had no qualms that given his current status as a Blade his life held little worth to Lotor. It was why he was surprised he had been given a personal audience with him, dragged from his cell with a few other captured Blades who Lotor had deemed of interest and worth sparing despite their defiance, and delivered here.

He had no idea if Lotor would actually kill him, but he'd rather that fate than ever bowing to him.

His eyes flicked over to Shiro, standing at attention as stiff as a sentry next to Lotor's throne.

There was still no recognition in his face.

"Let me reiterate once more for your less intelligent human side," Lotor leaned forward. "Kneel and pledge your allegiance or there will be consequences."

Keith jerked his chin up, hands clenching behind him in the energy cuffs.

He wouldn't repeat himself.

He'd made his stance very clear.

Lotor snapped his fingers. "Bring him out."

Keith blinked, trying not to show his confusion at the turn of events.

Bring him out?

Who was he—?

"Lance," he gasped, unable to bite back the name as Lance was dragged into view from behind the throne by a Galran soldier, hand twisted cruelly in his hair.

He was in his civilian clothes, or what remained of them. Barefoot, jeans ripped up one leg and jacket missing, just a rumpled baseball tee left behind with dried blood taking up a spot on the right sleeve that was yanked behind Lance in his own set of cuffs.

He was gagged too, a thick strip of cloth digging into his mouth and tied tightly behind his face. Ocean eyes widened as they locked on Keith and Keith was hit with both a wave of desperation and relief in that gaze.

He swallowed thickly.

What game was Lotor playing?

"I have here someone who may make you reconsider your stance," Lotor said conversationally. "Allow me to explain."

He rose from his throne, stalking with a dangerous grace, over towards where Lance had been forced to kneel, the soldier keeping his hand tight on Lance's head and immobile.

"You see," he said, reaching out a long purple finger and tracing it down Lance's face, who gave the barest perceptible shudder, "Lance here would very, very much like for you to take my offer."

Keith's stomach turned over as Lotor caressed Lance's face again and Lance tried to lean away from the touch.

"I have all of the members of Voltron at my disposal," Lotor continued, turning his gaze back to Keith. "They all have value to me, the little hacker girl in particular and of course," he licked his lips, "the beautiful Princess Allura."

Keith's nails dug into his palms, biting his tongue.

"All save for this one," his hand brushed Lance's cheek again. "Oh, I have no doubt I could find _some_ use for him, but in terms of value beyond his appearance, which is quite _exquisite,_ well… He is rather lacking."

Lance shuddered again as Lotor's hand trailed from his cheek, down his neck, and came to settle over his heart.

Keith couldn't say silent any longer.

Lance looked so _scared._

It was _wrong._

"Get your hands off him," he growled, feet shifting for all the good a charge would do.

Lotor chuckled.

"I am willing to make other arrangements for Lance, of course. It all depends on you, _Keith_."

Lotor's lips curled up into a smirk.

Keith's stomach dropped.

He knew where this was going.

"I will give you one last chance. Kneel before me and pledge your allegiance or Lance here," Lotor's hands shifted to hold Lance about his shoulders, "will find a fate much worse than solitary confinement to live out the rest of his days. It's all up to you."

Keith's eyes looked back to Lance's, who met his with the very beginnings of a sheen starting to develop in the corners.

Still, Lance gave the barest shake of his head against the tight grip.

No.

Keith swallowed thickly.

If he didn't do this then Lance…

And if not this time then there would be a next. Something maybe even worse.

Lotor was not going to stop until he got what he wanted.

It was up to Keith how many broken bodies he left in his wake.

"Well?" Lotor prompted. "Your decision?"

And holding Lance's ocean gaze, desperate and pleading and strong all at once...

Keith knelt.

 **Author's notes:** I do so love writing my more… smary Lotor. He's such a joy, truly. He knows just what buttons to press to get what he wants and I do admire it so.

 **IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTES:** This is the last upload I will be making on Fanfiction dot net. I have been crossposting between FF and AO3 since joining this fandom, but given the rather steep decline of both readership and commentator-ship in the last month I have made the decision to post solely on my Archive of Our Own account, username also IcyPanther. I do hope you'll come join me there. Accounts are being granted pretty quick and in the interim you are always more than welcome to leave a comment as a "guest" (their version of anon) by putting in a username and an email (which is not public but if an author responds to your comment you'll get a notification!). You can also continue to follow me on Tumblr, icypantherwrites, as I will post updates there still while you wait for an account to re-sign up for alerts.

This decision was not an easy one as FF has been my home base since I started writing fanfiction back in 2003 and it is very dear to me. But change can be good and in this case it is needed. Thank you all for your understanding and I do hope to see you there!


	13. Screaming So Loud AUTHOR'S NOTE!

**Author's Notes: PLEASE READ!**

Fanfiction dot Net does not technically allow updates or stories of solely author's notes and so I post this mainly as an author's note but have also included a fanfiction to abide by rules. Enjoy it, but please read this first.

I am no longer posting on Fanfiction dot Net. I am not active on this site. I am not reading or responding to any messages I receive.

I have moved solely to **Archive of Our Own** where I have posted over **TWENTY** new Voltron fanfictions since leaving this site. I encourage you to join me there. Please do drop a comment if you read anything you like, the emotional support and validation means the world.

In addition to being on Archive of Our Own I am also active on both **Tumblr** and **Patre0n** (FF does not like this word, replace the '0' with an 'o'). All of my handles for these sites are listed below. If you like my works, please come by. Again, I am **not** active on this site. I am posting this as I have been receiving an influx of private messages in the last few weeks and I want it to be clear, if my earlier announcement on my profile and author's note of this fic was not, that I am not active here. I am not seeing these messages nor responding.

Thank you for your understanding. Maybe see you around :)

 **Archive Of Our Own** : IcyPanther

 **Tumblr:** icypantherwrites

 **Patre0n** : IcyPanther

 _ **Screaming So Loud (There's No Sound at All)**_

 **Timeline notes:** Technically I'm picturing season two but really any season is applicable depending on how gentle you imagine Shiro to be while under Haggar influence xD

 **Warning notes:** Field surgery? Not anything too graphic but intense medical situation

 **Summary:** Shiro was holding him down, flesh hand pinning him to the table and his legs restrained. "I'm in position," Shiro whispered into the comms, voice wavering. His attention turned. "Just… just hold on, Lance. It's gonna be okay." And burning hot fingers plunged into his stomach. Someone screamed. And Lance realized it was him.

xxx

Screaming.

Who was screaming?

They were so _loud._

It…

It sort of sounded like…

Him?

At the realization it cut off, the ear splitting wails giving way to loud pants that still somehow hurt, each inhale feeling like fire was flooding his stomach.

He whimpered.

Over them he heard someone else shouting.

They sounded scared.

Was… was _he_ scaring them?

He tried to open his eyes, to figure out what was going on.

Harsh light assaulted his vision and he shut them.

It _hurt._

"Hold on, hold on buddy," the shouts were quieter now but no less panicked. "It's gonna be okay. I've got you. It's gonna be okay."

Shiro? He tried to say such but _pain_ swam up his throat and he coughed.

The fires were set alight.

He was screaming again.

He couldn't stop.

"Lance, Lance shh, it's okay, you're gonna be okay. Stay with me buddy."

There was a sharp crackling then in his ear and he cried out.

" _Number One, there's no time. You need to get them out now."_

"Coran, I can't," Shiro sounded, voice echoing both in Lance's helmet and outside it. "I can't do—"

" _He will die, Shiro."_

Shiro's breath hitched.

Lance wondered who they were talking about.

They sounded like they were in trouble.

"What… what I do?" Shiro's voice trembled.

" _You need a flat surface, preferably elevated so you are at height."_

"Okay. Okay. Got it. Hang on a tick."

Shiro picked up the pace and Lance whimpered.

It _hurt. Dios,_ why did everything hurt so much?

What had happened?

He couldn't remember.

He was being lowered from Shiro's arms a moment later, something hard beneath him and as painful as Shiro's hold had been he missed it.

"Okay, done," Shiro said.

Wait.

Done?

Were…

Were they talking about _him?_

" _You said the radzes entered his stomach, yes?"_

"Y-yeah. Four of them."

Coran cursed.

Lance started.

Radzes.

He knew that word. Sort of.

Those were the weapon they had been sent to retrieve. The small spiked bullets that could penetrate almost any substance and worked their way into the bloodstream to flow to pierce the heart.

Near instant death.

Voltron had learned of them through the Blades and their Paladin armor had been found to be one of the few substances the bullets could not pierce. They'd gone down to stop the production and apprehend all of the ones that existed before the Galra could get their hands on them.

Lance had entered the lab…

He didn't remember anything else after that.

Had he…

Had he been shot?

Coran and Shiro had apparently carried on their conversation without his listening as next he knew Shiro was unclasping his chest plate and dropping it to the floor with a clatter.

Lance jolted at the sound.

His stomach flared.

He screamed, a near breathless sound.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's okay, you're okay. It's okay."

Shiro sounded like he was almost ready to cry.

It was most definitely not okay.

"— _ep him calm, Shiro. A faster heart rate causes them to_ —"

Coran's voice cut off abruptly as the helmet was lifted away and then there was a heavy hand pressing on his shoulder and a lighter, warmer one descending on his head and stroking bangs backwards.

"Lance, buddy," he heard Shiro swallow, the higher tone of his voice fading, replaced with a cooler calm. "Lance, I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? I need… I need you to do that."

The hand continued petting his hair and the one on his shoulder was a steadying weight and Lance _tried_ to do as Shiro asked, although knowing he needed to do it because his rapid heart rate was going to kill him was terrifying and what if they were almost at his heart now and—

"Lance, _please,"_ Shiro pleaded. "Calm down. It's going to be okay. Breathe for me, buddy."

"Sh-Shiro," Lance whispered, pitch high and breathy and oh _Dios_ that was _him?_

It _hurt._

It hurt so bad.

"Shh, shh, I've got you. Come on buddy, deep breath. Breathe with me."

He heard Shiro suck in a noisy inhale and he tried to copy it.

" _No more time to waste."_ Coran's voice was softer now, as while Shiro had removed Lance's helmet he had placed it just above his head and he could still hear the comms.

He didn't know if that was such a good thing.

What was Shiro about to—?

The sound of ripping fabric reached Lance's ears.

His undersuit, he realized, a breath of cold air washing over bare skin on his stomach.

He shuddered.

The fire roared back to life.

Lance let out a choked moan.

Keep calm. Keep calm.

 _Dios._

There was a rustle of cloth and he felt Shiro move from above down to his feet. Something wrapped about his calves, tightening.

Shiro was tying him down.

Oh _Dios. Dios Dios Dios._

"Shiro," Lance whimpered as he felt something _drag_ against his legs, the restraints weighted down now. His armor, he realized, that Shiro had removed.

Shiro moved back towards his chest, his flesh hand now on his shoulder, not as gentle as before but almost bracing.

Holding him down.

Oh _Dios._

"I'm in position," Shiro murmured.

" _The radzes will have already moved from the entry points. You must find them. They react to heat."_

Lance could feel Shiro's shudder through his shoulder.

"Coran, you can't mean—?"

" _Yes. Seek them out and then… then you must remove them."_

Lance did not like where this was going.

"Shiro," he whispered, voice cracking. "Sh-Shiro, please—"

"It's going to be all right," Shiro responded, the waver in his voice betraying him. "It's gonna be okay."

" _The heat from your hand will cauterize Lance's flesh inside,"_ Coran sounded. _"Be careful and quick. We… we don't want any further damage."_

Lance let out a low sob, keeping his eyes wrenched shut.

No.

Oh _Dios_ no.

" _Quickly, Shiro. You don't have time."_

"Okay. Okay."

Shiro took a deep inhale. "Lance, I'm so sorry. I'm going to be quick, okay? Just… just hold on. It's gonna be okay."

Shiro's grip tightened painfully on his shoulder and he could feel him pressing down with his body weight, larger form strong enough to do so.

Oh _Dios._

There was a wash of heat then, almost gentle. It passed over his stomach.

Shiro was hovering his hand, he realized.

But even that started to hurt, the warmth turning hot and Lance moaned again, trying to shift away even though he knew he couldn't.

There was a quick intake of breath, an "I see them," and then—

Burning hot fingers plunged _into_ his stomach.

Lance _wailed._

He flung his head back, smashing it against the ledge, and his feet kicked out uselessly, not going anywhere thanks to the restraints and the weight.

He could feel them _curling_ inside of him, pinpointed streaks of torture, digging and searching and searing and oh _Dios make it stop make it stop make it stop!_

He continued to scream.

Shiro's fingers left only to go back in.

It was worse the second time.

It didn't end.

Shiro was saying something but Lance could no longer hear him. He could only hear his own screams, his pulse, he needed to calm down calm down calm down before he killed himself but he couldn't he couldn't breathe it hurt it hurt it _hurt._

Twice more it happened, Shiro's heated hand moving lower each time, the vague sound of curses assaulting Lance's ears as surely as the pain inside of him.

And then…

It stopped.

The pain was still there, a crackling, stabbing torment, but no longer actively moving, Shiro's fingers stopping their plunging search.

"Got them," Shiro panted above him and the bruising grip on his shoulder lessened. "All… all four."

That shaking hand came up to rest against Lance's forehead, brushing against the sweat-soaked bangs. Lance turned his head into the gentle touch, shuddering and crying.

"All over," Shiro whispered. "It's over. Lance, it's over. It's okay. It's okay. You were so brave. It's over now. You're gonna be okay."

Lance didn't feel capable of speech, his throat ravaged from his shouts and his stomach and chest still a mass of agony and fire.

" _Excellent job, Shiro,"_ and Coran's relief was palatable. " _Bring him here now. I'm prepping a pod as we speak."_

"Roger that."

The hand left his bangs and Lance whined at the loss, but they were traveling to his feet, relieving the weight and the restraints.

"I'm so sorry," Shiro murmured, back a moment later. "I'm so sorry, Lance."

Lance rocked his head against the surface.

No.

No.

Shiro had nothing to apologize for.

He'd… he'd _saved_ him.

"Th...thank you," Lance managed, prying open tear-crusted eyes. Shiro's countenance, worried and scared and relieved and horrified met his.

Shiro let out something that could have been a sob, could have been a laugh, and the hand trailed down his cheek, rubbing it gently. Lance closed his eyes, soothed by the gesture.

Everything still hurt, but…

But it wasn't so bad now.

He was okay.

He was safe.

Shiro had saved him.

"You're gonna be okay now," Shiro promised him, voice choked. "I've got you."

Saying so Lance felt one hand slide under his knees and the other even more carefully shift to his back and he was lifted into Shiro's arms and cradled close. Lance tilted his head forward, nudging it into the crook between Shiro's arm and shoulder.

Safe.

"I've got you," Shiro repeated softly. "You're gonna be okay." The arms tightened.

"You're gonna be okay."

 **Author's Notes (reposted again): PLEASE READ!**

Fanfiction dot Net does not technically allow updates or stories of solely author's notes and so I post this mainly as an author's note but have also included a fanfiction to abide by rules. Enjoy it, but please read this first.

I am no longer posting on Fanfiction dot Net. I am not active on this site. I am not reading or responding to any messages I receive.

I have moved solely to **Archive of Our Own** where I have posted over **TWENTY** new Voltron fanfictions since leaving this site. I encourage you to join me there. Please do drop a comment if you read anything you like, the emotional support and validation means the world.

In addition to being on Archive of Our Own I am also active on both **Tumblr** and **Patre0n** (FF does not like this word, replace the '0' with an 'o'). All of my handles for these sites are listed below. If you like my works, please come by. Again, I am **not** active on this site. I am posting this as I have been receiving an influx of private messages in the last few weeks and I want it to be clear, if my earlier announcement on my profile and author's note of this fic was not, that I am not active here. I am not seeing these messages nor responding.

Thank you for your understanding. Maybe see you around :)

 **Archive Of Our Own** : IcyPanther

 **Tumblr:** icypantherwrites

 **Patre0n** : IcyPanther


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